


Song #3

by subtropicalStenella



Series: SWR: PTAU [12]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Break Up, Depression, F/M, Gen, Mental Breakdown, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-07 18:06:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14086587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subtropicalStenella/pseuds/subtropicalStenella
Summary: Pre-PTAU: What happened when Hera found out Kanan was in the Black Sun?





	1. Wasted Half My Life

It was simultaneously the calmest and  _ nastiest  _ breakup I've ever witnessed. And I live with Sabine Fucking Wren, so I've seen nasty since then, but nothing really compares to the burn the fields, salt the earth, tactical-nuke strike of Hera and Kanan falling apart.  

 

\--

 

It seemed weirdly normal at first? Kanan and I chilling on the couch, him laying sideways, one gangly-ass leg slung up over the back, the other under the coffee table (street find woo), watching How It's Made and working our way through the local pizza place’s Thursday Night Special (4Med 1-Topping for $20 hell yeah hell yeah).

Kanan’s phone went off twice in rapid succession, and then a third time. Generic Chime #2 but no one's going to be texting him at 1147p but Hera.

He went from slouched to scared-animal tense in half a second, but didn't move a muscle, just said  _ shit _ , real quietly to himself. There's a full two-minute beat before he sent a response. Really short.

 

Hera sent something else almost immediately.

Another  _ long _ pause, just staring at his phone.

Another short answer. Longer than the last, but not by much.

 

_ Ping! _

Long pause, short answer and shaking hands.

 

_ Ping! _

Long pause, short answer and white knuckles.

 

It went on like that for a while. The whole conversation probably took a (really,  _ really  _ tense) hour even though Kanan's only typing a few letters. There was just such a long time before he could say  _ anything,  _ and I'm kinda glad I couldn't see his face through his phone, especially after I read what they said. 

 

I don't… I don't ever want to watch someone's whole world get destroyed like that.

 

But I'm an unobservant asshat so I actually went back to watching the show, until Kanan just _ snapped,  _ threw the phone across the room, and nearly kicked me in the head trying to get off the couch in a hurry. 

 

“The  _ fuck  _ are you going?” Like it wasn't obvious.

He threw a jacket on, stomped into his boots, and snarled, “ _ Out. _ ” slamming the door behind him.

So of course I grabbed his phone. Screen was cracked worse than before but the touchscreen still worked. (Passcode is Hera’s birthday, real smooth.)

 

Hera had sent a picture of a wall first. The side of a rundown building on the corner of 3rd and Thomas. A new acquisition, I think, given how the big Black Sun emblem sprayed 5’x5’ across it is layered over all the other graffiti.

The next image was cropped out of another picture I probably don't want to see the rest of, because that's definitely Kanan's dark green sheets under his bare arm, like he's got his hand tucked behind his head, under his loose hair. The Sun on his forearm is really obvious. It's also really obviously the same symbol, just… more ornate. More intricate than the one on the wall, than what I had been trying to earn and now didn't want to.

 

_ Shit. _

 

Captain Sexy 11:49pm

Does this mean what I think it does?

11:53pm

yes

Captain Sexy 11:54pm

Were you ever going to tell me?

11:58pm

don't know

Captain Sexy 11:59pm

That's fine. I don't think I want an explanation, anyway

Captain Sexy 12:01am

I don't want to know how you justified lying to me for six fucking years

12:05am

okay

Captain Sexy 12:06am

Or what fucked up shit you did to earn that

12:10am

okay

Captain Sexy 12:12am

It got fancier last year.

12:17am

yes

Captain Sexy 12:18am

And three years ago

12:22am

yes

Captain Sexy 12:25am

Funny, you getting “promoted” about the same time I did. 

Captain Sexy 12:38am

Don't ever fucking contact me again.

  
  


My first thought was “Holy shit no wonder he burned rubber out of here”. Second was that this is probably going to be weird and difficult to explain. “Haha actually I'm an undercover cop sorry” is pretty far-fetched but they're stupid in love with each other and pretty much perfect together. They'd work it out.

I threw his phone on the charger, his remaining half-pizza in the fridge and went back to watching the process behind steel wool manufacturing with the couch to myself.

 

\--

 

When he didn't come back in the early morning, or later when I actually got my ass moving and went to school like a Real Boy™, I figured yeah, they worked it out and probably put each other into makeup-sex-comas. I felt kinda bad for Hera’s mysterious roommate but whatever. Better them than me.

This notion was  _ thoroughly  _ disproven when I got home (weird enough to have a distinct place to call home) to an apartment that reeked of alcohol, rotten pad thai and despair. And  _ blood,  _ what the fuck?

 

“Holy  _ shit,  _ Kanan! What the hell happened to you?” 

 

I had to look  _ over  _ the couch to find him. It looked like he started out on it, given the stains I was horrified to recognize as “dumpster slime” from some particularly bad days of my own, and either rolled or fell off. Probably in pursuit of the half-empty handle of Jack tucked into his elbow. 

No response. He was alive: eyes open and breathing but only dubiously conscious and probably concussed, given how thoroughly his nose was broken. He probably reset it himself at some point but the bridge was split and he was still bloody.

 

“I’m going to guess 'Not Hera’. Doesn't really seem her style,” I said, because I know how to compartmentalize and not flip the fuck out over the way that the one stable thing in my life has completely fallen apart and was now lying in a miserable heap of human refuse like he melted into the floor.

“Could’ve if she wanted to,” he had mumbled, not looking at me. “But, y’know, 'Don't ever fucking contact me again’ is pretty clear. So she didn't get the chance.” 

“Wait, you believed her? Like, you didn't even  _ try  _ to go talk it out?”  _ Seriously?! _

He turned to me, or at least let his head flop over. “The fuck you talking about?”

“You didn't like, try to win her back?! Talk to her?!”

He blinked at me like I'm an idiot. Or because he couldn't see me, because concussion.

“'Don't ever fucking contact me again.” Repeated slowly, again, like I'm an idiot.

“Well,  _ yeah _ , but chicks say all kinds of crazy shit when they're pissed!” 

 

Might not have been holding it together as well as I hoped, my voice cracked twice there. 

 

Kanan had just sighed. “Kid, if you're ever with someone as long as Hera and I were--”

The immediate past-tense was surprising. I couldn't really believe he'd given up already.

“--and you haven't figured out how they express themselves, you're an idiot and need to work on communication skills. Or you're an idiot for staying with someone who likes passive-aggressive headgames.”

“Says the guy who handled a breakup by getting shitfaced, getting his ass kicked, then--just an educated guess--getting tossed into the dumpster behind Thai Gardens on Fourth, and  _ then  _ getting garbage all over my couch?”

 

I know my dumpsters, okay? Thai Gardens is right on the edge of Sun territory, next to the highly contested White Rabbit Strip Club/Bar, which was probably a good place to get wasted, look at girls that aren't your ex, Be Sad About It, and “accidentally” get into a fight for wearing the wrong colors or ink. Good pickings, too, but awful during the summer, the smell was horrible. 

 

_ “My _ couch,” Kanan had growled, and that… hurt. More than it should have.

“Yeah well I fucking sleep on it, and it's fucking disgusting.”

“Sucks to be you.”

 

I’m thinking  _ Is he fucking serious? _

 

“So you're just going to lie around like a sad sack of crap watching… are you watching Conan the Destroyer?”

“Yup.”

 

He followed that brilliant monosyllabic response with a pull off his bottle of Jack like it's fucking  _ water. _

Weird choice for a breakup movie, right? Except when you realize...

 

“Are you watching Conan the Destroyer  _ specifically  _ because Grace Jones reminds you of Hera?”

“Yup.” (shot)

 

_ Is he  _ fucking _ serious?! _

 

“I can't decide if that's sad-pathetic or like, actually sad.”

“Halloween costume, three _and_ five years ago.” (shot)

“Pathetic it is.”

“Yup.” (shot)

 

Wow.

 

“Fine. Be a sad drunk sack of useless crap. Just, y’know, do it in your own space, dickhead.” 

 

I managed to come out pissed off, not whiny. Score one for me.

 

“This  _ is  _ my space, numbnuts,” Kanan had snapped into his whiskey, staring through the TV. “You just live here.”

 

Wow,  _ fuck you. _

 

“Yeah, I  _ do,  _ because I don't have any-fucking-where else, remember?” I had snarled, thinking  _ Fuck you. _ Fuck you.  _ He can't fucking  _ do _ this to me.  _ They _ can't do this to me. _

“I'll just fuck off for a few days until you drink yourself to death.”

 

_ They were supposed to-- _

 

“Then I can haul your stupid ass out onto the street and have the place to myself.”

 

_ This was supposed to-- _

_ I thought-- _

 

“Maybe I'll get your job. Either of them. Probably do it better, at least I'll be fucking  _ sober,  _ you selfish prick.”

 

_ They… _

_ Shit. _

 

Kanan finally made eye contact with me, which is stupid because suddenly my eyes were watering from the fucking dumpster stank or whatever, and he just fucking  _ sighed _ again, rolled over and away from me like a fucking asshole and…

Got up. Slowly, like it hurt and like he was, well, like he was drunk as fuck, but he got up and sort of slapped me on the shoulder as he stumbled by me, one arm around his ribs.

I’m thinking,  _ Fine. Where's the fucking Lysol? _ Luckily not in the bathroom, since that's where Kanan decided to relocate. Worked for me.

 

I said a prayer of thanks to whoever invented fake leather upholstery over the sounds of Kanan puking up his toenails and, miracle of miracles, turning the shower on.

Pretty sure he was making himself sick on purpose? You can tell the difference, y’know. The accessory sounds like groaning and cursing are less helpless and more determined but just as miserable.

Long-ass shower. Good thing I didn't want one, because this rattrap only gets 19 minutes of hot water and he went something like half an hour. 

 

I managed to clean up the living room, the couch _and_ make myself a bacon-egg-and-grilled-cheese by the time he actually got out of the bathroom, gauze taped over his noticeably straighter nose and shirtless but in clean sweatpants, or at least a pair out of the “passes the sniff test” pile  _ everyone _ has, don't lie to yourself. It was pretty obvious already that he was going to have a  _ spectacular  _ pair of black eyes, damn.

He kinda leaned awkwardly in the kitchen doorway, like it was holding him up, and it probably was. Purging only gets so much out of your system and that was a  _ lot  _ of whiskey on top of fuck knows what else, and there were  _ two  _ distinct purple boot prints among the bruises on his chest and stomach.

“Ezra. I…” 

 

Another fucking sigh, and then:

 

“Thanks.”

“Fuck you, this is mine,” I had snapped, like there wasn't another sandwich waiting for him in the microwave where it would stay warm, because I was still mad at him. I was, but there was also a sandwich.

 

He snorted a laugh, winced, and winced harder because hey guess what, both of those are a bad idea with a broken nose.

“I meant--”

“For calling you a sad drunk sack of useless crap? Sure, anytime,” I assured him, and vindictively took a huge bite out of my sandwich.

“No, that one I had pretty well figured out on my own,” he said roughly, dragging his hand through his damp hair and rubbing the back of his neck. “I meant… Thank you for reminding me that's not good enough. That I can't be that guy. Not for any reason.” 

“Oh. Uh. Sure.” 

 

I'm a  _ genius.  _

 

It was taking him physical effort to look me in the eye. “I'm… probably going to need to be reminded of that a couple times. I'm sorry. You don't deserve that kind of responsibility, so feel free to tell me to fuck off.”

I just kinda stood there like the idiot I am because how the  _ fuck  _ do you respond to that? Good job, at least you know you have a problem and your coping mechanism sucks?! Instead, I just… walked out and sat on the couch arm, with complete stupidity falling out of my mouth:

 

“So… It's really over for you guys?” 

A nod. “Overdue, really. That's the problem with dating someone that's better than you in every way: eventually they'll figure out that well, in my case, you're a sad drunk sack of useless crap with a dead-end bartending job to cover for some serious criminal gang activity and they're better off without you.”

Apparently he had reached the Bargaining Stage in the shower, but I had to call bullshit on that. “You're  _ not _ though! That's not--”

_ “Caleb Dume _ is not,” Kanan had snarled, going tense across his shoulders. “He's also  _ dead,  _ and he has to stay that way or we  _ both _ die, and the fucking Sun wins.” 

“But--”

“But  _ nothing _ , Ezra. It's over.”

Whatever energy he'd summoned up to scrape himself off the floor sort of dissipated after that, leaving him slouched against the doorway for a good minute, before he mumbled something about sleeping things off and disappeared into his room


	2. Found It All In You

I figured  _ sleeping it off  _ would take, y’know, a while, but three days seemed like a lot. He missed two shifts at the bar. That wasn't automatically a bad thing, but it was a  _ Friday and Saturday night _ , no-call-no-show and those shifts always meant a shitload of tips on top of his usual crap paycheck.

We did okay, he still got his (equally crap) paycheck from his “real” job but he couldn't afford to lose the bartending gig on  _ several  _ levels. Yeah sure Withwar owned the Witch’s Eye and all, Kanan was his Top Guy there, running everything that ran under the tables, but it still had to  _ pretend  _ to be a legitimate business and there were plenty of people that would like to take Kanan's job. Either of them.

I could kind of get it, like, fuck knew I'd skipped school for less traumatic reasons but… this was a bit bigger scale? To be fair, he  _ tried _ to keep his shit together. No collapsing on the couch, at least while I was home, and no 'fuck everything’ bottle of whiskey tucked into his side. A lot of “Irish coffee” that was way more Irish than Coffee, but he walked or took the bus to work when he actually finally went on Monday, he didn't try to drive, and I'm reasonably certain he was eating. 

 

He was also apparently keeping his shit together by aggressively making sure  _ I  _ had my shit together. I got more homework done in that week than I had in a  _ while,  _ because if I wasn't doing it, he'd kick me out of the living room and commandeer the TV. He’d even moved on from Conan and switched to Xena, which isn't  _ that _ much of a step up because let's face it, while he claims to be equal-opportunity, enthusiastically pansexual, he has A Type and that Type regarding women is 'capable of kicking my ass’. 

 

He coped. Sort of. Technically. 

 

… but it wasn't enough and it wasn't fucking  _ fair.  _ He was drowning, and trying to actually drown.

I understood why he couldn't explain things to Hera, that keeping his cover was part of, well,  _ keeping his cover. _ And I knew about the shitstorm of bureaucratic bullshit he'd gotten into when  _ I _ blew his cover. The only reason I hadn't immediately been thrown into yet another foster home (or, let's be real, juvie) was because Withwar would suspect something was up if his favorite junior thief (yay me) disappeared after poking around one of his lieutenants. That and I was sort of an asset on my own, another tool to help bring Black Sun down. Hera, on the other hand, was his girlfriend who he  _ deliberately _ downplayed to the gang for her safety  _ and _ his supervisors because the number one rule of deep cover was 'don't get attached to people’, so as far as they were concerned she was just a regular opportunity for him to get his dick wet, not worth risking the whole operation.

Also I was a dumbshit punk kid who stumbled ass over elbows into the whole mess so it's not like I could cause any problems on purpose, right?

 

I am banking on that last part, standing in the rain at 537 in the afternoon outside what I seriously hope is Hera’s apartment.

I've never actually been there, and it had been insanely difficult to find her address. Part of this was because Kanan was justifiably paranoid about his enemies finding Hera, so he never let anyone or any social media know her location or their location when they were together. This last part was helped by the incredibly thorough internet presence post-breakup scrubbing. I'd found it almost on accident going through his pizza delivery app and finding a few deliveries to address that wasn't ours over the last year or so that coincided with sleepovers at Hera’s. So, two buses and a longass hike later, I’m pretty sure I should win some kind of Stalker Award for this.

If I'm right.

 

_ knock knock-knock _

 

Hera is not short, my age, or Asian. Nor does she have shoulder-length hair colored like a bonfire, which would be  _ fascinating  _ if this person hadn't also answered the door with a bat.

Therefore, I am wrong. 

 

Unless… 

 

“Is… uh. Is Hera home?”

“Who’s asking?”

“Ezra. Ezra Bridger, I'm… uh. I'm Kanan’s roommate?”

 

That is a seriously impressive murder scowl, and--

 

_ “Hera!” _

 

\--some seriously impressive  _ lungs,  _ damn. But at least I have the right apartment. Hera’s roommate doesn't let me in, just leans back around the door to continue yelling.

“Among the many,  _ many  _ red flags we have discussed and will  _ continue _ to discuss until we've truly established exactly how much of a dumpster fire your ex was--”

 

Heh, if only she knew.

 

“--did 'He has a thirteen-year-old twink for a  _ “roommate”’  _ never register?!”

 

First, wow. Second,  _ ew. _ Just.  _ Urgh. _

 

“For the record, I'm fifteen, and--hi, Hera--”

“Oh, he's fifteen, that's  _ so  _ much better--”

 

Hera ignores her. She looks… Tired. Tired and sad. “Ezra, what are you doing here?”

Her roommate shows no indication of running out of steam or caring that she's being ignored, demanding to know things like, “How are you this blind? How are you not a skin lamp?”

 

And continuing right on into

 

“Seriously there is no dick so good you can't buy a better one that isn't attached to a  _ lying rat-bastard sonofabitch  _ who thinks sending his roommate--who is, again, jailbait--to plead his case is a good idea!”

I would have protested the jailbait thing, but I was sidelined by the first part of that bit because, “Wait, you told  _ your _ underage roomie about your boyfriend's dick?  _ Gross-- _ ”

And Hera almost-screaming  _ No!  _ over her roommate's “Hey, I'm emancipated, fucko--”

 

Until--

 

_ “Enough! _ Ezra, _what_ are you _doing_ here?”

“Kanan didn't send me, I swear,” I tell her, cutting her off. “Seriously, he doesn't even know I'm here. He thinks I'm staying late after school for a project.”

Hera looks skeptical. “He believed that?”

Roommate looks concerned. “Wait, are you here because you're trying to escape or something?”

“What?  _ No,  _ it's not like that--”

“Seriously it's okay, do you want us to call the cops?”

“Why would--? Fucking--oh for fuckssakes he  _ is  _ the cops!”

 

If my life were actually a sitcom, this would be the cue for a record-screech. Instead we all just sort of stand there stupidly until Hera asks, “Is this  _ seriously _ an attempt at _'I lied to you because_ _ I'm a Secret Agent _ _’?”_ and I can hear the Sarcastic Capitalisation. Now she looks tired and  _ disgusted. _

 

_ “No,  _ that's stupid, come on, you know him better than that!” I start, and realize how stupid  _ I  _ sound about halfway through the sentence because, well…

“Turns out I don't actually know him at all, so--”

_ “Exactly,  _ it's the  _ truth!  _ He--”

 

Maybe I shouldn't blab this all out here, outside, on Hera’s doorstep. In the freezing rain. I kinda can't feel my fingers anymore and I lost signal to my toes half a block from here. Kanan’s leather bomber jacket is great for keeping the rain off but my hoodie underneath is nearly soaked through halfway down my chest.

 

“Can I come inside?” 

 

Obviously no one believes me on the cop thing, which is why twenty minutes later I'm sitting on Hera’s tiny kitchen counter eating nutella-and-ice cream. Hera’s bowl is melting on the table next to her while she sits, head in her hands, staring at the official credentials of Kanan--or rather,  _ Caleb Dume _ , deep cover agent for the FBI.

Multiple forms of identification and credentials, because, like  _ Sabine _ had said, the laminated ID was way too easy to fake. Though she did sort of falter over all the holograms and microtext and stuff that makes it, y’know, impossible to fake.

His real badge, the metal one in its leather billfold, had made a very satisfying  _ thunk  _ when I tossed it lightly on to the table. 

 

“So. Yeah,” I mumble around a mouthful. How the hell did no one market this yet? “He's a liar, but like, he really does have good reason.”

“How do _ you  _ know all this?” Sabine asks, sitting on the table next to Hera, feet on the chair. 

“It's complicated,” Hera mumbles, which is what Kanan had said when she met me.

I nod. “I broke into his house a couple years ago because I thought he was a snitch, thought I'd turn him in and impress the boss.”

 

Hera and Sabine are  _ both _ staring at me now, absolutely horrified. Oh. Right. Caleb's the fake gangster and genuinely good man. I'm the punkass kid that almost got him killed for a quick promotion. 

 

“I don't… uh. I'm not going to do that, now, obviously. Kanan…  _ Caleb  _ is…”

“Your meal ticket?” Sabine sneers.

“My  _ friend.” _

“Uh-huh.”

“Sabine,” Hera growls. 

Sabine rolls her eyes and goes back to squinting at me suspiciously. 

“This is… a lot to take in,” Hera continues, rubbing at her temples. 

“Wait, you're not  _ actually _ considering taking him back?” Sabine demands, turning her glare on Hera. 

And now I'm glaring at Sabine, because “Why  _ wouldn't _ she? None of this is his fault--”

“This is  _ all  _ his fault--”

_ “This--”  _ Hera snarls, slapping her hands down on the table, “Is. A. Lot. To. Take.  _ In.” _

 

Heh, Hera’s Mom Voice works on her too. 

 

“I need to think about this,” she says, smoothing her hands down one of her long, fat, braid-of-braids. “Ezra, do you need a ride home?” 

“That’d be great!”

 

Really, really great. Wait, had Kanan gotten up today? Oh shit, no, this could be bad. Let's  _ not  _ let Hera see… any of that.

 

“Sabine can take you home.”

 

Okay the simultaneous disgusted groan from Sabine and I should have been an indication of how my life would go. Luckily I'm cool enough to understand that riding behind a girl on her motorcycle is  _ totally sweet  _ rather than emasculating.

... and maybe it's a good thing Kanan doesn't seem to care enough to wake up, or ask who the hell I knew with a motorcycle. Maybe if this doesn't work out, he won't find out that I blew his cover and chew me out for it.


	3. Did I Save You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra you might wanna... Go.

Kanan is looking considerably better, now that the bruising was fading into a delightful variety of greens and yellows in the last couple of weeks. Apparently his nose hadn't been “that bad” on whatever insane scale he judged physical injury, and not even the worst break he'd had. That, apparently, was Break #3 and had involved a steel-toed boot directly to the face that had smacked his head backwards so hard into the pavement he'd ended up with a cracked skull, too. (I  _ know,  _ right?) This was apparently Break #5 (“Maybe six? Kinda lost count. It's easier, after the first few.”) This had just unseated the cartilage from the bone, without actually breaking anything.

He's also kicking my ass into the glittery Rainbow Road pavement when he sits up abruptly, suddenly alert and listening for something. “Ezra, get down.”

 

Apparently I wasn't doing it fast enough because he hooks his leg under mine and uses it to yank me down off the couch and-- _ ow, shit,  _ I'm going, fuck--shove me under the coffee table while he--what the  _ shit,  _ Kanan?--pulls a fucking  _ Glock  _ out from under the couch cushion, pointed at the door. 

 

It's Hera, in a short white sundress, with her nails _and_ lipstick the _exact_ same color as the green stripes woven into her braids.

 

For a hot second Kanan just stares at her, his face this horrible, indescribable mix of hurt and hope and all the pain he's been trying and apparently mostly  _ succeeding _ in hiding from me before it hardens into something worse. Cold and quiet and final. He makes a show of safetying his gun (a fucking  _ Glock _ , did I mention?) and sticking it back into the couch before… seriously? Starting up a new race?

 

“Not exactly how I expected to be greeted,” Hera says, but doesn't drop her purse and keys on the kitchen counter like normal, just stands there in the doorway. She sounds like she  _ wants  _ to be teasing but is too tense. I mean, I would be too if my boyfriend pulled a fucking gun on me out of (admittedly, justifiable) paranoia. 

“I don't like uninvited guests,” Kanan answers roughly. He…  _ no.  _ He doesn't… he  _ never _ talks to Hera like that. 

“I can understand why, now,” she says, standing there rubbing at her upper arms like she's cold even though the a/c crapped out. She looks  _ miserable _ and he's going to fuck this up at this rate.

“Can you understand that the phrase includes  _ you,  _ now?” he snaps, watching the screen, holding the controller so tightly his knuckles are white.

 

Oh, shit. He's fucking this up on  _ purpose, _ isn't he? Driving her away, since he's convinced this should have happened a while ago and she's better off without him, which is  _ stupid. _

 

“Kanan--”

“Kid, stay out of this,” he growls, rough and ugly. Shit, he doesn't talk to  _ me _ like this. Good way to make himself look like a fucking asshole, though. The double-tap of his foot on my shoulder, out of sight, confirms that it's an act, means  _ work with me,  _ and I'm about to lose my shit because  _ no, you idiot, work with  _ me!  _ Work with  _ her! 

 

There's a  _ thud  _ as Hera  _ throws  _ her purse down, stomping over our way, like she's in her work boots, not strappy little sandals, saying  _ “Fuck  _ no, you are  _ not  _ going to take this out on him--”

“What I  _ am  _ is pretty fucking tired of your goddamn ultimatums,” Kanan snarls, fucking  _ snarls,  _ I can hear his teeth in it, like a dog. He's lashing out like one too, vicious but _ scared  _ under it, hiding it in the violence as he leans sideways around Hera’s hips like he's focused on his race.

 

“Yeah? How about this one,  _ jackass _ ,” Hera says, just as pissed, but different. Hera goes quiet and calm immediately. Kanan does too, but only when he's  _ past _ angry, which is way scarier and usually ends up with people bleeding.

I can't really see anything, because, y’know, under the table, but she's grabbed Kanan somehow and pulled him back upright and she's bending down from the waist, straight-legged and in his face.

 

“Two things are going to happen. You,  _ Caleb,  _ are going to shut the  _ fuck  _ up before you say something you regret.” 

 

Oh man I would  _ kill _ to be able to see his face. He just dropped the controller.

 

“And then you are going to apologize to me until I decide you're done.”

 

Wait, how--  _ oh.  _ Yeah, no. I'm just gonna scoot out from under the table and out the damn door before I'm scarred for life. 

 

“That's  _ my _ cue to leave--”

Hera nods, but doesn't take her eyes off Kanan, who… honestly who looks like he's about to explode into a thousand pieces. “Sabine's got the truck and money. Go.”

 

_ Gone. _

 

Apparently Hera’s plan was $60 for a couple rounds of movie tickets and like, _a_ small popcorn apiece, but, Sabine it turns out, is awesomefor more reasons than "has a motorcycle".

She is entirely in favor of 1) Sneaking into the movies in the first place and 2) spending the $60 on actual good candy from a grocery store to be smuggled into the theater because $5 for a bag of Skittles  _ my ass. _

She is also an incredible asset in this regard, because obviously people suspect the punk in the huge orange hoodie, but no one would  _ dare  _ accuse Sabine Wren, Executive Chairwoman of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee, of raiding her absolutely  _ stacked _ roommate’s lingerie drawer in order to have extra “pockets” under her shirt. Once she threw her leather biker jacket (!!!) on, you couldn't even tell that her cleavage was 87% sour gummy worms.


End file.
